Quiet Graveyard
by the one a.m. writer
Summary: A strange man strikes up a conversation with John Watson in a graveyard.


_Something I wrote a while ago. John Watson and Dean Winchester._

* * *

"I've been there," said the man.

John looked up. It was unusual to meet someone who would talk to a grieving man in a graveyard, less so an American.

"What do you mean?"

"Y'know. The whole thing about 'please don't be dead.'"

The man had heard John's speech to Sherlock's gravestone, then. That explained it.

"Who did you lose?" John asked hollowly.

"My brother. Sam. We were fighting together, we needed to beat this guy… and down he went, riding Sam shotgun. Sacrificed himself. For me. For all of us."

"Yeah," John agreed.

"So who was he?" the man asked.

"Sherlock. He was a dick, honestly," John said, because that was easier than saying he was the bravest and the smartest and so, so, interesting and… and John missed him.

"But you miss him," the man said, echoing John's thoughts.

"But I missed him."

"How did…" the man sounded like he wanted to ask how he died, but there was something there that spoke of someone teaching him that perhaps that wasn't the proper thing to say. It was an echo of a memory of Sherlock, but John made the connection anyway. Even if the connection wasn't there, he would have made it, because he was still looking for Sherlock, honestly.

"He sacrificed himself," John explained, saving the man the struggle of figuring out how to kindly ask. "We thought it was a suicide, but Moriarty's body was on the rooftop. That means… that means he jumped for us."

"Moriarty…" the man wasn't asking anything, really. John let him muse. John was musing too. The man hadn't given much detail about his brother's death.

"It's a bitch, ain't it?" asked the American. The "it" in question was more of an abstract concept, but John knew what he meant. "They gotta save the world... then they tell you to move on and find yourself a pretty girl, but how?"

Exactly. But John could hear Sherlock's voice in his head, so derisive about relationships for himself, and he huffed something that might have been a laugh on a different day.

"What?"

"Sherlock. He wasn't really the relationship type."

Dean half-smirked. "Yeah, I've met one like him." The smirk dropped from his face. "He died. Same battle. Stupid fucker, distracting the guy so I could save Sam."

But you didn't save Sam? John thought.

No. "Then Sam jumped in the hole. God, I miss Sam, but I miss him too, even though he was a dick."

"Tell me about him. Your other friend," said John, because he knew the man was focusing on his brother, but this guy seemed so much like- like Sherlock.

"He pulled me out of perdition."

John offered a sort of half-smile to this metaphor.

"I didn't like him at first, because he and his people were trying to screw up our lives. But then he rebelled for us, so how d'you say no to that?" He shook his head fondly. "We fought together... God, I thought he was stuck up, but he sacrificed more for me than I ever so much as thanked him for."

John clenched his jaw, because that was Sherlock, in a nutshell. Dick at first, stuck up, but in the end, he sacrificed everything.

"I got some advice," the man said suddenly.

"Advice?"

"You feel like the world's gonna end even though he just stopped it from doing that."

And John nodded.

"But the world's gonna keep turning. And you're not good for anything by being sad. Remember him by helping the world. Remember him by being happy. He wants you happy."

John scoffed. "I can't do that."

"Yeah, you can. Every time you feel happy, you feel like you're betraying them. But you're not. Because they want you to be happy."

"I'm a doctor," John said hesitantly. "I want to go back to my practice."

"Good. You're a good man," said the American. "I don't always have that luxury."

"What luxury?"

"Being a good man. Savin' people. Supposedly, that's our tag line, but… doesn't always work out."

"No. You're a good man, too," said John, and meant it. "I was an army doctor. I know how war works. Sometimes you wonder if you're on the right side."

The man nodded in agreement.

"I'll do my best," John promised.

"Mm?"

"I'll do my best. To be happy."

The man smiled. "Yeah."

"What's your name?" John asked.

"Dean. You?"

"John."

Dean laughed. "'Course it is. My dad's name was John. Good luck."

"For what?"

"Life. Everyone needs it."

Dean left, and John watched him go, thinking.

 _Be happy._

* * *

 **The end. Castiel stayed dead after the apocalyptic battle or never met Dean afterwards, so slight canon divergence, for those wondering.**

 **Hope you liked it.**


End file.
